


Movies that End in a Kiss

by fanforfanatic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester is Loved, Dean Winchester is a Tease, Dean in Denial, Dean is a Sweetheart, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Pining, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-23
Updated: 2017-05-23
Packaged: 2018-11-04 03:42:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10982634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanforfanatic/pseuds/fanforfanatic
Summary: You tell Dean you’re in love with him exactly three times.





	Movies that End in a Kiss

You tell Dean Winchester you love him three times.

Well no, you’ve said it more often than that growing up with him and Sam, taken in by John at a young enough age that the Winchesters are the only family you’ve ever really known. The only one you can remember, anyway. That’s what  _ I love you  _ has meant so far. It meant  _ you’re my family _ ,  _ I’d die for you too  _ and  _ I’m here _ .

That’s the brothers’ way of saying it, to you, to each other. Never ones for ‘chick flick moments’ or at least that’s what Dean had decided.  _ Jerk. Bitch. Loser. _

That’s not the kind of ‘I love you’ being addressed here. You tell Dean you’re in love with him exactly three times.

The first, in true (honorary)Winchester fashion, happens while you’re dying. Of course, it takes a demon taking a bite out of your jugular to man up and fess up. You’re at the end of your rope, out of time. If you’re ever going to tell Dean, it’s now.

You open your mouth but he shushes you.

“Don’t talk,” he says.

_ I love you _ , you think as hard as you can, your eyes going wide as though that will help convey the message. Like you could communicate it telepathically or he could read the words in your irises. 

Dean misunderstands. He presses the blue, now blood-black, bandana more firmly onto your fatal wound. “Don’t be scared. Sam’s breaking the angel warding right now and Cas is going to get his feathery ass in here and he’s going to heal you up and then we’ll go get burgers and that’ll be that.”

“Dean,” you rasp.

“Okay fine, we’ll go to a twenty-four-hour breakfast place.”

You chortle out a broken sound and wince immediately but the pain blurs along with everything else. You’ve lost a lot of blood, you know because you’re laying in it.

Dean taps your face and it isn’t gentle. “Hey, hey, stay with me, Loser. Don’t be a wimp, I bet it doesn’t even hurt.”

You chuckle again and say, “Only when I laugh.”

“Well then we’re screwed. I’m a very funny guy.” Dean lets out his own small laugh and grins down at you.

You think it doesn’t hurt at all when he’s the one laughing. That sound could erase all your pains and aches. It has many times before. Has made very bad situations, very dark times, just a little better, just a little easier. His smile isn’t half bad either.

The sunlight spills into the space from the open barn doors behind you, hitting Dean’s face in a way that’s making him hard to see, a little hard to look at. He’s lit up like a greek hero might be. Teary eyes shiny and twinkling in the light, hair more blond than brown as the rays filter through it, his skin goddamn glimmers like bronzed gold. Or maybe that’s just your vision that’s starting to go. Spots dance somewhere between your face and Dean’s so this must be  _ it _ .

“I love you, Dean,” you say because you think it’s the last thing you’ll ever speak and there are no words more important.

You vaguely hear Dean laugh a broken sound, you think you hear him say Cas’ name, something touches you (other than Dean that has his arms around you), everything tingles and everything goes dark.

 

When you come to, you are one hundred percent healed. Your throat is intact. The scratch from two hunts ago that had scabbed over is replaced by smooth skin. The tiny pimple you’ve felt brewing under your skin near your hairline is gone.

You’re in the backseat of the Impala, naturally (where else would you be?), and you sit up just as Dean steps back inside.

“You’re up,” he says, leaning over the backrest of his seat and flicking on the car’s dome light to get a good look at you. “How are you?”

“I’m good.”

His eyes look you over and scan your face for a long moment as though your word wasn’t enough. Then, he’s reaching for you, cupping the back of your head- no sliding down, holding your neck and pulling you closer. It’s a fraction of a second, the stretch of time between when you’re sitting up in your seat and when you’re leaning forward right up in Dean’s face, but it’s agonizingly slow. You think Dean is going to kiss you. You think,  _ this is it _ . 

Dean just looks at you some more, eyes shifting between each of yours. “Cas said you should be fine but I think we should check for a concussion.”

You don’t say a goddamn word but eventually, satisfied, Dean lets go of you and twists so he’s leaning against the door, still able to look at you.

“Sam will do his thing when he gets back. I promised you breakfast food didn’t I?” He grins, wrist poised on the steering wheel and hand hanging behind it, long fingers disappearing just beyond the scope of the overhead light.

You look out the window, away from Dean, assessing your surroundings for the first time to see that you’re parked at a gas station that has a shoddy sign in the window below a neon glow. You frown. “Dubious breakfast burritos from the Gas ‘n Sip is not what I had in mind,” you say already mourning the waffle you apparently will not be indulging in.

Dean ignores you in favour of patting the backrest fondly. “I’ve got my baby all gassed up and my best girl-” He winks at you, because why not fuck you up more? “-still amongst the living and a brother fetching me my road food. What more can I ask for?”

You roll your eyes at him and hope that your blush isn’t as visible as you think it is. “I’m telling Sam you said he’s fetching things for you.”

“Tell him,” he dares you.

You slump back in your seat, crossing your arms. “You think I won’t?”

“You never do,” he smirks. He drops his voice to a whisper like the information he’s about to share is confidential: “I know you like me the most.”

“Dean,” you start nervously, arms uncrossing. “Is this you teasing me about what I said because you’re a shit?”

Dean frowns. “Sounds like me but what are you talking about?”

It’s you who frowns now. “What I told you just before I almost croaked.”

Dean is quiet for a moment, solemn. “You really gave me a scare, you know.”

“Oh come on,” you try to joke. “You know how it is. We die, we come back.”

Dean doesn’t say anything.

“Look, about what I said towards the end there. Or the non-end as it happens. I want you to know that I meant it differently than usual.” You try to sound as nonchalant as you can. “I meant  _ that. _ ”

Dean scrunches up his face and it’s as adorable as every time you’ve seen him do it. Then he laughs and your heart drops as you think he’s laughing  _ at  _ you. “You were barely forming words towards the end there, babe. Just gargling nonsense. ‘mkinda impressed you had your ducks in order enough to remember now.”

“You didn’t hear what I said?”

“No but you can tell me now.”

You inhale sharply.  _ Can  _ you tell him now? Without the promise of being swallowed into oblivion? Without the option of escaping the aftermath? There are a lot of things you’ve accomplished thinking you wouldn’t be able to. Often times it was with Dean by your side. Probably  _ because  _ Dean was by your side. He’s here now too. Dean is always here. And you’re in love with him.

“I-”

Sam opens his door, cutting you off, and your nose fills with the aroma of meat and cheese. Your hands with the burrito Sam offers. Your ears with the bickering of the brothers up front. Then, you watch Dean drive off the lot. The words die on your tongue.

 

You’ve read enough novels and watched enough tv to know that when someone pines over their friend chances are the pining is secretly mutual. This is the reasoning you hold on to the second time you try to build up the courage to tell Dean. It’s been months since your last near death experience so the urgency is gone which means you have to create your own momentum.

Opportunities are hard to come by.

“Sam sit still,” you bark at him.

“You take so long. Can’t Dean do it?”

You’re a little harsher than strictly necessary the next time you go in with the needle. “Dean’s too hopped up on post-hunt adrenaline right now.”

“Also,” Dean adds, pacing a few feet away. “I don’t want to.”

Dean laughs as he sees Sam roll his eyes and as he sees you do the same over Sam’s shoulder. He bounces on the balls of his feet, you weren't wrong about him bursting with energy. You three plan to hit the local bar as soon as you’re done stitching up Sam’s shoulder injury.

“Seriously, hurry up,” Dean echoes Sam’s sentiment, then peers at your work and scoffs. “That doesn’t even  _ need  _ to be sewn up.”

“That’s what I said,” Sam agrees.

You concentrate on what you’re doing but spare Dean a glance. “It would scar.”

Sam mumbles, “Like it wouldn’t with you doing the-”

“You’re such an ungrateful shit, Sam,” you say shaking your head and trying to actually be upset. “I’ve gotten better!”

Growing up you’d been… less than skilled with the floss the lot of you used to patch each other up. All three of you had unnecessary marks on your bodies from a job not so well done on your end. That was while you were  _ growing up _ , though. You’ve gotten better! Sam and Dean still won’t let you live it down.

“Sure you have, sweetheart.”

“Shut up, Dean. You’re done, Sam.” You snip the thread and shove him lightly off the bed. “Get out of my face.”

He laughs a deep bellied laugh. “I’m gonna get cleaned up and then we can go,” he says heading towards the bathroom.

“Make it a whore’s bath Sammy, the patience tank is running low,” Dean calls back and plants himself on the other bed.

You shuffle to the edge of the one you’re on, you’d been kneeling behind Sam, and dump the bloody wipes into the garbage can you’d brought closer. You’re facing Dean now, your knees almost touching his in the space between the two beds.

He takes another swig from the flask he’d been slowly draining since his shower then offers it to you. You’re surprised there’s even any left. When hunts go like they went tonight, when they’re a little too easy and require much less than you were all willing to give, you all- especially Dean- end up with a restlessness that begs to be spent. So you drink and go out and party and generally have a good time.

Maybe that buzzing inside of you is what spurs you on, what makes you decide this is a good a time as any to get this  _ thing  _ off your chest.

“Are you going to take it?” Dean interrupts your thoughts.

“When have I ever turned down a drink?” You grab the flask from Dean’s hand and hate yourself for noticing how your fingers touch his.

“To the heartbreak of many schmucks in many dives, often.”

“Heartbreak, huh?” you say wincing as the liquor burns its way down your throat. 

“What else would you call letting someone like you get away?” He winks and takes another drink (you hate yourself for noticing again how your fingers touch).

“Dean, I love you,” you say.

Dean chokes on the booze, some spluttering out onto his hand that he lifts to his face. He laughs, wiping his palm against his chin and then against his jeans. “Is that what you and Sam were whispering about earlier? You two really want to start another prank war?” He laughs again and stands just as Sam comes out of the bathroom.

“What’s so funny?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Dean laughs some more. “Like you don’t know.” 

Dean leaves the motel room, leading the way to the Impala, laughing all the while. You watch him leave and, yeah,  _ heartbreak _ ’s the word for it.

You’d been wrong before, that day with the demons holed up in some barn. It hurts when Dean laughs too.

 

Very few things matter to you more than the Winchesters. 

Yourself, sometimes, because you aren’t that selfless nor do you think you should be. 

Milkshakes from that shack on the West coast. You’ve told Sam and Dean  _ if it’s between you and a Vanilla Bean Chocolate Delight I’m picking the dairy  _ enough times that they stopped hearing you.

That’s it. That’s the list of things.

So when you realised you were in love with Dean it had startled you, but only for a moment. After that initial shock it all kind of made sense. If you’re going to be falling in love at all of course it’d be with one of them. Giving it more thought made you understand that it had to be Dean, and upon even more reflexion (you’re analytical, who you gonna sue?) you understand that it will always be Dean.

You’re settled into the bunker for a bit of R&R. You’d gotten shot on the last hunt. Just a flesh wound with a clean exit, a lucky break you weren't accustomed to. Sam bandaged you up and you’d been good to go but somehow there was a silent agreement that you three would hang back for a few days. You’d been working a string of cases and had earned some down time. Besides, there was no big bad looming threat which naturally meant one was just around the corner. The smart move would be to rest up for it as much as you can afford to.

Not to mention that the bunker is still a new enough discovery that you guys like to be there just for the sake of being there. You like that there is a  _ there _ to be, now.

Dean comes into the library, a cellphone pressed to his ear but angled away from his mouth. “The burger joint got shut down,” he says, then with a shiver adds, “Health code violations.”

You snicker at his obvious discomfort.

“Sam’s asking what you’re in the mood for instead.”

You shrug and Dean rolls his eyes. Into the phone he says, “Yeah, she’s as indecisive as ever.”

“Fuck you guys. I’m just not picky.”

Dean ignores you and takes the seat beside you. “Yeah, that sounds good. Don’t forget the- He hung up on me.”

“I’d hang up on you right now if I could,” you tell him with no bite and a grin.

“Shut up, you love me.”

Your breath catches somewhere in your windpipe.  _ Yeah, I do. _ You beg yourself to say it. This is what you’ve been amping up for but you’re too slow, too paralysed.

Dean says, “What are you reading?”

“A journal of one of the men of letters circa nineteen thirties and let me tell you these tough guys  _ do  _ dance.”

“They’re librarians. I’d hardly call them tough- Wait, seriously? Wife swapping?”

You nod.

“Well, damn.”

You laugh. “It’s much more interesting than all the lore in here.”

“So much lore, right? I don’t know how anyone- Sam- could have the desire to go through it all. Hey wait a minute. You’re reading sex-journals and you judged me when I found the vintage porn magazines.”

“It’s not a sex journal! And I did not judge you.”

“Mhmm.”

“We really should be getting some work done,” you reason. “Sooner we make a dent in their archives the sooner Sam will let us rummage around with what they have in storage.”

“Toys!” Dean grins childishly. He really wants to check out all the magical items the Men of Letters have hidden away on the lower floors.

You laugh again because you love it when Dean is like this, playful and, if you squint, almost untainted by the hardships of his life. “I love you, Dean.” It’s the third time you say it and the words escape you effortlessly.

Dean stops wiggling his brows excitedly at you. “I know that,” he says. “You’re fami-”

“No, Dean.” You shake your head and he frowns in confusion. “I’m in love with you.”

The silence in the room echoes in your chest. You feel bare and like you’re teetering on the edge of something but it’s something great. It has to be. You’re a pair of heroes and after putting down the bad guy the movie ends in a kiss. He gets the girl, she get the guy, the camera pans out on them being sickeningly sweet. You think you can stomach sickeningly sweet if it’s with Dean.

“I...don’t…” Dean trails off. “Understand. I don’t understand, what are you saying?” Dean sits up straighter, his eyes wide.

Your eyes are wider as you remember- somehow you’d forgotten?- that your life isn’t a movie. You untuck your feet from under you and place them on the ground that you swear sways beneath them. Your hands shakily put the journal on the table and the wound in your arm screams to be noticed. The pain is salvation, pulling your focus away from the horror that’s unfolding. It’s also short lived as the sting doesn’t hold your attention once Dean beckons it.

“What are you talking about?” He asks, eyes still wide, still too green and too earnest for you not to feel like a complete and utter loser.

You don’t say anything.

“Where is this coming from? Since when?  _ Why? _ What?”

You still can’t bring yourself to respond, too busy being hyperaware of how this conversation is going to end. Then again, you’d been surprised initially too. What’s to say that Dean doesn’t just need a minute? You know he cares about you. The rest isn’t that big of a leap.

“Answer me,” Dean says.

“Come on, Dean. You want to try and tell me that this doesn’t make sense?” You give him your widest smile. “You and me… I don’t think I’ve been away from you for more than a week since we met. I don’t ever want to be away from you for more than a week. I want us-”

“Stop. You’re my family and there’s nothing, not a thing, I wouldn’t do for you but this… This isn’t how I feel about you.” Dean has a pained expression on his face.

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, I-”

“No!” You interrupt him, face burning. “No, don’t um don’t apologise.” You jump to your feet, your chair scraping the floor horribly. “You’re- This- You’re probably right,” you start, back peddling out of the room, bumping into chairs (one clatters to the ground) and into one of the book shelves. “This is really dumb. I don’t- I shouldn’t have said any of that because of how dumb it is.” 

You swivel to leave and walk right into the wall by the archway that leads out of the room, face first. You instinctively bring a hand up and find blood. You hear Dean stand.

“Don’t, Dean. Just. I’m fine. Don’t.”

You hear him still and that’s a miracle in and of itself. You hightail it to your bedroom, bumping into the door jam on your way out of the library. 

You suppose you should have seen this coming. Despite the bullet hole in your arm, you know there is no such thing as a clean exit.

 

It takes a while for things to be less awkward and a while longer for you to get over it, but a year down the line it’s like the most mortifying experience of your life didn’t even happen. Mostly. 

Dean still tries to be discreet when he bring a girl back with him to whichever motel you’re staying at. Sam asked you once why Dean rents an extra room instead of just taking yours and asking you to bunk with Sam. You sputtered out an answer and Sam gave you a knowing look and didn’t ask a second time.

It’s around that one year mark that you start sort-of dating an FBI agent that’s in the know as far as the supernatural goes. Dean doesn’t tease you, badger you or prod you about  _ loverboy _ like he has in the past. He makes a point of not making any comments about it. At least not to your face.

You overhear him talk to Sam though. 

_ What kind of name is Timmy, anyway? Come on, man, Timmy? _

_ She can do better than that monkey in a suit. A pencil pusher is what he is. _

_ What kind of relationship is it if they only see each other when a case takes us to the East coast? Huh? Not the kind of relationship she deserves. _

You also notice how most of your cases don’t take you to the East coast at all anymore. Sam shrugs and looks anywhere but at you when you ask him about that. Is evil converging in the Hollywood hills?

Things don’t last with Timmy, which doesn’t really surprise you. You might have been wrong about you and Dean but you weren’t wrong about the fact that if you were ever going to  _ be  _ with anyone, it’d be a Winchester. It’d be him. You don’t have the kind of lifestyle that’d allow anything else. That’s the predominant reason, you try to tell yourself. You figure you just won’t  _ be  _ with anyone. Your years are numbered,  _ that’s  _ the kind of lifestyle you do have.

It’s another year and in true Winchester fashion one of you is sort of dying the first time Dean tells you he loves you. He uses the three words, tacks on a  _ Loser _ at the end and punctuates the phrase with a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be an unrequited love story and it was supposed to end with the scene in the library and in my heart that's where it does end but I figure that might be less pleasant to read. I wanted to twist the trope, which I've obviously failed to do. Feedback is lovely!
> 
> Find me on [tumblr](https://fanforfanatic.tumblr.com/).


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